100 Themes Challenge
by RyDeNiSlOvE
Summary: Probably won't be finished, and will mostly be rated M. South Park or Big Time Rush, whatever I feel like at the time. Pairings will vary.
1. 29 Colours

29. Colours

I sat back in the chair, every once in a while reaching out to grab a grape off the table and pop it in my mouth, if not just because I was bored. The situation was an impossible one- if Carlos wasn't tempted by shopping cart slingshots and Logan didn't care about math, then there was virtually no way out. It was hard to be the only sane one when your friends had all lost it.

It's like, you know, being the last human in a zombie apocalypse: fucking insane.

Which, speaking of apocalypses, along came my idiot boyfriend himself, accompanied by the increasingly familiar sound of a spray can. I had half a mind to rush up and lock the door before he could get to it. Unfortunately, though, he threw open the door, waltzing on in in all his usual gay glory and marching straight over to the kitchen table. I coughed at the cloud of chemicals hanging around him.

I could barely even bear to look up at him, only chancing a fleeting look with the hope that he had returned to his normal level of sanity and quickly deflating as I saw that he was still the hue of your regular carrot. Or a pumpkin, or the golden gate bridge, or maybe the couch. It was horrible, that was about the size of it.

James glanced around the apartment, sizing up all the furniture before deciding that I seemed like a suitable seating option. He slid onto my lap, slinging an arm around my shoulders. Normally James and me and this kind of position added up to an immediate boner for me, but right then it was pretty much just irritating.

Something good could come from Logan's temporary madness: he was less uptight, and something good could come from Carlos' predicament: he wasn't whacking his way down a constant path of destruction and had lost the helmet for once. Nothing, and I repeat, _nothing_, could come from James being orange. He was more obnoxious than ever, and I didn't really have an oompa loompa fetish.

"Hey babe," he finally greeted me, elbowing me lightly in the stomach and leaning down to kiss me. I turned my head away, something about the way the glossed frosted pink of his lips clashed frighteningly with the bright orange of the surrounding skin just not doing it for me. He raised an eyebrow, trying to turn me towards him but to no avail.

"Kendall," he said, seeming confused as to why I wouldn't budge.

"James," I replied dryly, setting a hand on his thigh because his jeans were, you know, not orange. And because he was taking up anywhere on my leg that I would put my hand. "I'm not kissing you if you're fucking orange. Capiche?"

"It's not orange," he retorted hotly, fixing his bangs and glaring down at me. "It's _mangerine_."

I sighed. Yes, this is what I had to deal with. Mangerine. For crying out loud.

"Whatever. Wash it off and try again."

"B-but Kendall," he explained, sounding slightly desperate. He got this kind of stressed out thing going whenever anyone threatened to damage or alter his physical appearance in any way. "I look so _handsome_."

"You look like a fucking yam, dude."

"But- "

"Nope."

He turned in my lap, bending his knee and lifting his leg up so he could put it on the other side of my waist and straddle me. I sighed, instinctively moving my arms around his back and feeling a tiny bit turned on just from the contact, not James. Definitely not James.

"Move your hands," I ordered, looking distastefully at the brightly coloured appendages resting on my waist. He hung them over my shoulders, thankfully no longer ruining my view and with a little imagination making this seem as normal as it would usually be.

I ran my hands up over his thighs, sliding my hips forward slowly and grinning as he pushed back with a long but forceful motion. I did have my reserves about, you know, having any sexual contact whatsoever with such a raging _freak_, but I was a horny teenager and my dick honestly didn't care what colour James sprayed all over his face.

"Well then," he said, his breath a little short as my fingers moved forward to knead absently at his crotch.

"Kay, get off me." I looked up finally to see the horrid thing that was his face, grimacing at how fucking sexy he usually looked versus how the orange just made it all disappear. He looked a little put out, but I assured him that I wasn't done with him.

He slid off the chair, sitting down once I stood up and watching me appreciatively as I dropped down to my knees. I leaned forward, closing my eyes and trying to make myself forget or at least not think about the orange again. Because James wouldn't leave me alone until he got his blowjob, and I _really_ wanted him to leave me alone. Not to mention that I had an affinity for sucking dick anyway.

Sighing, I reached up to undo his jeans in the familiar motion of popping the button and unzipping him, tugging his pants down slightly and leaning down to mouth at the front of his briefs. He shuddered, sliding down a little in the chair and spreading his legs for me. I drew back, looking at the wet spot I'd created with my mouth in the front of his underwear and rubbing at it with my hand.

"Alright," James huffed impatiently, and I smirked, happy to finally get to a part of him that wasn't fucking carrot coloured. I licked at the cotton of the bulge straining against the front of his underpants, teasing until he finally got fed up with me and grabbed my hand, placing it on the waistband of his underwear and exhaling tightly.

I yanked the underwear down, immediately burying my head in my hands. His tan was apparently all over his body, because, fantastically enough, his dick was- you guessed it- orange. I slowly raised my head to look up at him, seething quietly and still gripping the hem of his briefs.

"Really?" I asked him, puffing out my cheeks and exhaling slowly.

"All of me needs to be handsome," James said haughtily, raising his eyebrows and looking down at me.

He was. Really. Really. Crazy. "Well, in that case, I'm gonna go and spray myself blue. Hey!" I said with mock enthusiasm, touching my chin contemplatively. "I have a great idea for the band- we could all be bright colours! I can be blue, and Carlos can be purple, and Logan can be green! You'd still be orange, too. It would be really cool. And really _handsome_."

James looked thoroughly unimpressed. "If you suck it, the orange'll come off."

"Okay, yeah," I agreed cheerily. "In a second, I'll be right back. I need to go paint myself blue super quick."


	2. 27 Dark

27. Dark

Craig was not afraid of the dark. It was peaceful and soothing and not annoying, and it usually coincided with the idea of no people. He could be alone in his bed and sleeping, and he didn't think there were monsters under his bed because that was impractical and just plain fucking stupid. There was no fear of the unknown. He knew what was in his closet, and it wasn't the bogeyman, it was sweaters.

However, Craig was maybe a little afraid when he woke up in the pitch black with clammy hands pressed over his mouth and the mattress depressed on either side of his waist. He didn't freak out, he thought about it carefully and decided whether or not to freak out. It wasn't his sister; the hands felt too big. It wasn't his dad, because alcoholic or not he wasn't that crazy or violent and the person weighed too little. It wasn't his mom because the breathing sounded too masculine. So it was either one of his dumbfuck friends, or some random rapist that got into his house. Or, you know, the bogeyman.

He could deal with that. He would totally ask who was going to murder him, but there were hands over his mouth. Craig waited for the mystery dude to do something, because if he was just going to kneel there and stop Craig from talking then Craig was going to go back to sleep. Slowly, the hands moved back, hesitantly like they were scared Craig was going to call for someone. He was thinking about it.

"Hey," he whispered, patting the person's hand that now rested on his chest. He heard his captor shifting above him and a hand scratching at his hair. Craig relaxed a little, getting kind of bored with whoever broke into his house. "Would you mind telling me who you are, or, like, if you're gonna kill me or some shit? Else I'm just gonna sleep, if that's cool with you."

The person sighed, bracing his hands on Craig's waist and sitting on his thighs.

"This is lame," Craig whispered, pillowing his arms underneath his head and staring up at the blackness where he knew the ceiling was.

"Okay," the other finally said, and Craig then understood why he wasn't talking before. It was because Craig would recognise that voice anywhere. Like, _anywhere_.

"Dude, what the fuck," he sighed, unimpressed with his visitor. "Can you, like, let me the fuck up, I won't call the cops, I promise."

"A-are you mad?"

"No, you're just an asshole. You could have called me. And come in through the door instead of the window."

Craig breathed out through his nose as the other slid off him, picking himself up off the bed and stumbling over to the lightswitch. He flicked it up, automatically squeezing his eyes closed to shut out the sudden brightness. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting over at the bed and seeing the familiar blonde sitting on his feet and listing a hand through his hair.

"Kenny," Craig said, a whining edge to his voice saying that he obviously wasn't in the mood for the other boy to be climbing through his window at three in the morning.

"Hey," Kenny replied in a stage whisper. Craig's parents _did_ sleep downstairs, and his sister was down the hall, but still. Kenny didn't want to be caught and Craig didn't want to explain why his friends were such morons. "Can you turn off the light? It's gonna wake someone up."

Craig kind of deflated every time Kenny's said something, the slight southern accent that he picked up from his hick parents reminding him over and over of who was infringing on the time reserved for his beauty sleep. He narrowed his eyes, lips in a thin line as he flicked off the light switch and felt his way back to the bed.

This was really, really fucking annoying. Craig slid back under his covers, turning onto his side facing towards Kenny and closing his eyes, sinking down into the mattress and letting the warmth make him drowsy. It was kind of comforting with Kenny there, just like old times. When he _expected_ Kenny to come in the middle of the night and sleep with him.

Now Kenny had moved to Denver in hopes of finding a job and they weren't really much of friends or whatever they were before. Not to say they'd fought or anything, but Craig was kind of over Kenny and wasn't all too keen on seeing him randomly.

"Why are you here," Craig stated, muttering into the pillow.

Kenny shifted around a little before laying on his back next to Craig with his elbows bent and his hands above his head. "I dunno. I miss you."

"Great."

Kenny found his way under the covers, curling himself against Craig's back with his face in his t-shirt. He was just thankful for the warm bed, and the warm body, and the comfort of the whole thing that he didn't have anymore. Sure, he knew Craig was pissed and wanted to sleep, and supposed it made him selfish to want this.

He felt Craig press back against him, trying to be subtle about it, and grinned in the pitch darkness, the hand that was resting on Craig's sharp hip moving down to rub at the front of his basketball shorts. Craig slapped at Kenny's hand weakly, too tired to really fight back, contemplating the chances of falling asleep at the moment.

The chances seemed like about zilch as Kenny increased the pressure of his fingers and Craig felt himself getting harder and harder. He felt Kenny's lips curve into a smile against the back of his neck, blushing impossibly and glad it was too dark to see his goddamned hand in front of his face.

"At least _someone's_ happy to see me," Kenny muttered, slipping his hand under the elastic of Craig's shorts and wrapping a hand around his dick, grinning at how hot and flush and firm the skin was. Craig grumbled something unintelligible into his pillow, gripping at the fabric of the thing and pretending he wasn't so damn turned on.

Kenny's other hand dug its way under Craig's waist to his front, practically hearing Craig's teeth gnashing and steam coming from his ears as he was caught in Kenny's arms. Kenny was so fucking _stupid_ sometimes.

He pressed his lips in between Craig's shoulder blades, his hand launching into a rhythm of highly distracting tugging and squeezing that made Craig squirm in Kenny's grasp and push back needily against Kenny's thin body. Which was pretty fucked up, because Craig wasn't really planning on seeing Kenny either anytime soon or ever.

This was going to cause a hell of a complication.

Kenny detached himself from Craig, the latter finding himself feeling strangely cold and wanton, hoping the other would return as soon as possible. He reached down to jack off slowly with slight embarrassment, not caring _that_ much because if he was going to get off, he was going to get off, and that was that.

Craig relaxed a little when he felt Kenny's hand on his shoulder, pushing it down so that he laid on his back with his hand still dutifully kneading over his dick. Kenny took a deep breath, climbing over Craig and leaning down to kiss him softly.

Craig had never wanted anything more in his _life_. He sighed at the feel of Kenny's warm mouth on his own, threading his fingers through Kenny's hair and gripping it as to keep his lips where he wanted them. Craig kissed back with a fervour he didn't know he had in him, wrapping his legs around Kenny's waist as his tongue pushed past his teeth and got everywhere it could.

This he would admit he missed, dearly. He held Kenny close enough to hurt, latching onto him and kissing him desperately until his lips felt numb, his mouth still moving firmly against Kenny's, drawing back for breath and pressing back just as soon. He felt his heart pounding and his breath quickening, trying to slow himself down as he finally parted from Kenny and made himself happy just having Kenny there above him. Being there for Craig to have. It was hard letting himself be comfortable; he'd always had a preconceived fear that whatever had been given to him could easily be taken away, and that he had to hold onto it for dear life if he wanted it.

He wanted Kenny.

Kenny leaned down to kiss Craig again, the dark haired boy letting a soft contented noise into Kenny's mouth as he felt the blonde's hands moving over his wrists, distracting him with warm, gratuitous kisses as he shifted around above him, probably trying to get his pants down.

That was okay, Craig thought, at least then. In the morning every day spent getting over Kenny, missing him less and less, would be put to waste and Craig would go into emo kid mode, but right then he _needed_ Kenny. Self control wasn't one of his strong suits and never had been, and he didn't care how fucked he'd be later. Now was what mattered now.

Craig whined quietly, tightening his legs around Kenny's middle and trying to push closer, pushing up Kenny's sweatshirt and grinding himself against his stomach. He'd given up trying to hide how damn _horny_ he was, mainly because Kenny was never any better. Craig gripped at one of the bars that made up the head of his bed, Kenny's hands still over his wrists with Kenny moving around and trying to get comfortable as much as he could with Craig hanging onto him.

Craig was brought out of his haze a little when Kenny pulled back, coming to the realisation that Kenny had wound thin rope around his wrists and the metal crossbars of the bed, tying it in a shitty knot in the front. He sighed emphatically, glaring at where he knew the other was. That was really not necessary.

"Why," Craig complained, his eyes adjusted enough to the dark to see Kenny's silhouette looming above him and the tent he was relentlessly pitching in his basketball shorts. It was embarrassing now that he thought about it; he just felt so defenceless.

"So you won't try and run away."

"I wasn't going to," Craig replied dryly, giving Kenny a pissed look that he knew he couldn't see in the darkness. However much his common sense was telling him to curl into a ball of death and coldness and tell Kenny to fuck the hell out of there, well, if you were in the midst of fooling around with a super attractive guy, you wouldn't just pack up and leave either.

"Well…I figured…you might not agree with my plans? Or maybe I just like tyin' you up."

"Whatever, Kenny." Craig spread his legs more, wanting Kenny back down between them immediately getting involved and filthy like he always did. Kenny was into nasty shit like rimming that Craig would never do himself but loved receiving, although he didn't look like he was really planning on letting Craig have all the fun.

Kenny exhaled heavily, Craig lifting his hips so that Kenny could yank his pants down and pull them off his body, placing them on the comforter that had been pushed down. He sat there for a moment before going over to the window and opening the blinds; he wanted to see Craig a little more than he could and the moon and light pollution would do the trick.

He slid back onto the bed, licking his lips at the way Craig was laying out across the bed, looking ruffled from sleep with his black hair sticking every which way. He looked more desperate than ever, watching Kenny with heavy lidded eyes, legs open for the other to see _everything_. Kenny sat on his thighs again, running his fingers over his hips and bringing them perilously close to his dick before taking them back. Of course, his instincts went something like if there was a cock, suck it, but he refrained. Craig's mom woke up around five and he didn't have too much time.

"God, Craig, you're so fucking sexy sometimes," he mused, kissing him deeply before dropping to his hands and knees, reaching over to Craig's nightstand and opening the top drawer where he kept everything Kenny could need. He grinned at Craig's bound wrists, plucking a condom out of the mess in his drawer and tearing it open carefully. Craig whined and Kenny picked the latex out of its packet, rolling it over his cock and sizing up the situation.

He kind of didn't like the position they were in, but to change anything would mean he had to untie Craig. Which he didn't want to, because Craig defenceless as this was the hottest thing he'd seen in a long time.

"Alright," he muttered to himself, running his hands under Craig's thighs and lifting his long legs over his shoulders. Craig glanced down, looking put off by the fact that he couldn't use his hands. Kenny liked that. He rubbed at Craig's entrance absently with his thumb before using his hand to steady himself on Craig's thigh, his other hand guiding his dick in.

Craig bit his lip, breathing out violently and squeezing his eyes shut. Kenny was, well, _big_. And Craig hadn't been fucked in months. Naturally, it wasn't too fun at first.

"Fuck, Kenny," he whispered, taking deep breaths as Kenny pushed forward all the way and trying not to make noise because his little sister was asleep down the hall. He wasn't that loud in bed, but just to be safe he expelled all his pent up energy in heavy breaths. Kenny whimpered softly, grabbing at Craig's thigh and slamming in again and again, knowing full well where Craig's prostate was and hitting it dead on each time.

Craig was overwhelmed, jerking and shaking and curling his fingers and toes every time Kenny rammed into his sweet spot. And sweating. He managed to sweat profusely every time he even mildly exerted himself, and in the most _annoying_ places too. On his thighs especially, and on the backs of his knees and the insides of his elbows and pretty much everywhere from his hips to his knees, but he could barely bring himself to be pissed off. Every move Kenny made was absolutely _delicious_. The pain was ever present, of course, but he could ignore it and he sort of liked it anyway.

He pushed his hips back into Kenny's desperately, trying to get him into that spot more and more, craving the short but deep motions that signalled Kenny getting closer. He looked up at Kenny, whose face was contorted in pleasure and concentration, his hand on his lower back helping to push himself forward. Kenny turned to Craig, their eyes locking for a split second before the blonde closed his, biting down on his lower lip and his hips stuttering as he came hard in Craig.

Craig pressed his head into the pillow, back arching off the bed as Kenny slammed in one last time, reaching forward to finish Craig off, the latter blowing his load practically the second Kenny touched his dick. He let the breath he'd been holding out loudly, sinking down into the bed and feeling suddenly chilly.

Kenny pulled out, Craig grimacing as he felt the warm cum slipping in his ass and on his stomach. He honestly must have looked like a mess, seeing as he had been sleeping and was rudely awakened and fucked into oblivion. Because _shit_.

The blonde boy took a moment to compose himself, licking his lips and sliding off the bed before tucking himself back into his jeans and moving over towards Craig's window. He grinned at the other, pushing up the window and looking down presumably at the ladder he'd taken from the side of Craig's house and propped up against the house to get to the second story of the Tucker house.

"Love you," Kenny whispered, blowing a kiss in Craig's direction before climbing out the window and down the ladder. Craig relaxed into his mattress, looking up at his popcorn ceiling and trying to reach down and get his shorts. This was when he realised he was tied to his bed with jizz dripping out of his ass and cooling on his lower stomach.

And no one was there except his mom, dad, and sister.

"Goddamnit!" he yelled, watching Kenny's car door close and not really caring who heard him. It was better one of his family members untie him now then later, because he was one to deal with the inevitable as soon as possible and get it over with. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs, the sound of his dad yawning making him shrink into his bed.

Maybe he was a little afraid now, just maybe.


	3. 48 Party

48. Party

Logan Mitchell was not one for parties. He didn't like to dance. He didn't like to drink. He didn't like loud music, or chaos, or crowds. He got nervous and awkward around pretty girls, and he wasn't very good at making friends or starting conversations, and there was never anything to do anyway. Except talk to people. And eat whatever shit hors d'oeuvers (or Ruffles, depending on the party) they had out for the losers like Logan that were too lame to 'party' or whatever.

He begged James to drop him off at the library, but James had insisted that he come out of his shell and go to the stupid party. Coming out of his shell sounded like a load of bullshit when he could be curled up on the couch with a book.

It sounded like rotting, flaming bullshit when he was leaning against someone's kitchen counter with a freaking Sprite (yes, the kind without alcohol) in his hand trying to ignore all the noise and people. If James wanted him to come so badly, he should have at least tried to, you know, not ditch him to go be the centre of attention.

And, speak of the devil, here came the fuckwit himself. Logan sighed, trying to make himself invisible in the darkness as James sidled up right next to him, touching carefully at his bangs and disregarding Logan.

"Can I help you?" Logan asked, raising a dark eyebrow at the other.

"Just seeing how you're doing," James replied smoothly, looking over at a group of badly dancing, boozed out, underdressed people, seeming sort of distracted. It wasn't that hard to get distracted; people did all sorts of bullshit stuff when ninety percent of those attending were drunk or stoned or a combination of the two.

"Well, James," Logan began, setting his soda down on the counter and giving his friend a dry look. "This party sucks balls, and I haven't got anything accomplished besides standing here and waiting for you to be done fucking around so we can go home. And I have homework to do. You should have brought Carlos."

"Carlos is over at Guitar Dude's place having major pot smoking buttfucking fun," the taller of the two explained, choosing to ignore the rest of Logan's dissatisfied sentiment.

Logan looked up at James, giving him a pleading look that he knew would get him nowhere. "Come on, take me home."

James stared back.

"Please? My life is wasting away before my very eyes."

"Then do something," James suggested, acting like it was the most obvious answer in the world and he was wasting his breath even saying anything.

Logan pressed both palms to his face, the cold counter pressing into his back uncomfortably. He was starting to get a headache from the shit music blasting throughout the condominium, sweaty from the unrelenting heat of Los Angeles.

"See her?" James asked, and Logan uncovered his eyes to look where his bandmate was pointing. There stood the typical sort of chick that James would go for, a blond in a short but summery and somehow un-slutty purple dress that was standing by herself with a colourful drink in one hand.

"Yeah, she's hot, I'll go get the car and wait for you to go seduce her," Logan sighed, looking at the girl simply because he had nowhere better to look. Honestly, he couldn't bother even trying with girls anymore, because he just made a fool of himself.

"Oh, no," James said in that voice that suggested he had a really stupid plan. "She keeps looking over at you, and you're complaining about not doing anything, so go, she's all yours."

"Yeah, I don't know," Logan said, scooting towards the door a little in a not-so-subtle implication that he wanted nothing more than to go home and veg out on the couch.

"C'mon, dude, she's hot."

Logan sighed, sizing the girl up. He would have no objections to fucking the life out of her, sure, finding himself staring a little stupidly and imagining how her legs would feel against his hands, or against his waist, and that was the least of it. However, he knew he didn't have a chance.

"But James, you know I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to say to chicks."

"Then go figure it out," he told Logan, gesturing towards the girl in the purple. Logan honestly didn't feel like humiliating himself for no reason at some piece of shit party. He shied away from the counter slightly, which was thrumming with the obnoxiously loud bass beats of the music and making his chest hurt.

"James," he whined, feeling more sticky and humid than ever and wanting to be in his air conditioned apartment with just the guys and Kendall's family even more than he wanted the chick James was looking over at all over him.

"Need help?"

"I need help getting home." Logan folded his arms across his chest, deeply unimpressed.

"Need help with girls?" James smirked, looking away from Logan and doing a terrible job of feigning innocence.

"You know that, asshole, no need to rub it in."

James turned back to Logan, giving him the kind of look you'd give to a guy in a horse suit that was applying sunscreen to a bowling ball. "What about rubbing in assholes?"

The music was too loud to hear the sound of Logan's palm hitting his face.

"Goddamnit, James, you're so stupid, and the answer is yes, but you already knew that, and I said nothing about ass rubbing or anything of the sort. Although I assume you already knew what I said, and you're just being a moron, because that's what you do."

James looked a little put out. "I'm serious, man, I think you deserve some action and I just figured I could give you some advice, or something."

Logan rolled his eyes, pushing himself up to sit on the counter. "Tip number one, don't be Logan."

"Come on, man, just…pretend I'm her. What would you say?"

Logan tried to be serious, partly because he wanted to humour James and get the fuck away from the party, and partly because he figured he had to become less of a loser at _some_ point. Maybe.

What _would_ he say to her? God, he didn't know. He'd never had a way with words, or tact, or anything you need to ask a girl out. He turned to James. It honestly wasn't _that_ hard to pretend he was a chick; he had _makeup_ on for Christ's sake.

"Hey," Logan breathed out, his voice sounding tight and awkward.

"Wrong," James interjected before Logan said anything more. "You need to be more relaxed, for one thing. You sound like you're talking to a fucking ninja axe-murderer. It's just a girl, the worst that could happen is you get rejected."

Being rejected was not fun. He took a deep breath, calming himself down. It's not like he was actually asking her out, he was just talking to idiot James, one of his best friends.

"Hey," he said, the word coming out more smoothly this time as he slid closer to James.

James raised his eyebrows, Logan preparing himself for another reason why he was doing this all wrong.

"Hey," James replied in a falsetto, smirking and looking Logan up and down in what the latter hoped was just James' acting skills put to use. Because otherwise the whole thing would be, in Logan's opinion, pretty gay.

"Y-you wanna dance?" he asked hopefully, trying not to grimace at his inevitable stuttering. He did _not_ want to dance with James.

"Yeah, sure," the taller of the two agreed, still in the most freaking annoying high pitched voice Logan had ever heard. Nonetheless, it was better than the voice Logan used last time _he_ was in drag being a girl.

James threaded his arms around Logan's neck and Logan froze up.

"J-James," he stammered. "I don't know how to dance." He blushed furiously, looking down at his feet and realising all he knew how to do were the gay choreographed moves he had to learn for the band. Which were in no way suitable for a party.

James sighed, looking fed up at his lack of general life skills. "Then- ugh, do you seriously want me to teach you how to dance?"

"I'll have you know that this was _your_ idea and that I honestly have no chance of getting that girl."

"Well," James mused, still with his arms over Logan's shoulders. "What if- damnit."

"What?"

James smiled brightly. "That didn't work. Okay. You're right, let's go home."

*

Logan set down his book, feeling tired physically but not mentally. Part of him wanted to burrow down in his bed and get a good night's sleep, but the rest was bored. He pushed himself up off the bed, scratching at his chin as he exited the room and shuffled down the hallway.

James was on the couch, sitting there staring into his iced tea and looking just as bored as Logan.

Logan ran a hand through his hair, plopping himself down next to James and stretching his legs out across the other's lap. James looked up at him, setting down his drink and yawning.

"Sup," he greeted him sleepily, resting a hand on Logan's shin and sinking back into the orange couch.

"Ey."

Logan looked at James out of the corner of his eye, aware of the other studying his face but pretending not to notice. He stretched out his arms, slinging one over the back of the couch and glancing over at the kitchen.

The bathroom door opened and a disheveled Carlos walked out, heading towards the room he shared with Kendall.

"Hey fags," he said in acknowledgement of James and Logan, disappearing down the hallway with a tired thumbs-up.

"James?" Logan asked tentatively, reminded of the other's strange actions earlier. Logan had found himself thinking about the whole thing with James trying to teach him how to approach the chick and then saying whatever about it not working. He was, admittedly, kind of demoralised that James had given up that easily, despite the fact that he _did_ want to get home as soon as possible.

"Hmm."

"What did you mean about it not working?"

James gave him a slightly confused look, knowing full well what he was talking about.

"You know," Logan explained hastily, "After I said I couldn't da-"

"Yeah, yeah," James interrupted, fixing his hair compulsively and glaring weakly at Logan. "I was just, you know, being retarded, forget it." He waved a hand dismissively, but it wasn't enough to stop Logan's curious nature.

"C'mon, was it because I'm such a fucking loser? You can tell me, I won't be offended."

Maybe he would be offended, but answers came before his feelings when he didn't know something.

"No, I- Logan, if I tell you something, will you, like, not be weird about it?"

"I can't make promises, dude, I think I'd be weird about it if you, like, killed Kendall's mom or something. But you know you can tell me whatever you've been thinking."

"I dunno." James listed a hand through his long hair, which was a sign that something was really, _really_ bothering him. Logan knew that James wouldn't just mess up his hair for nothing. He looked worriedly at James' bangs brushed back from his forehead, a few errant strands on the wrong side of his part.

"I'm like, your best friend, bro," Logan said, anxiously pressing his heel into the couch on the other side of James' lap. "You can tell me anything. Is it a girl?"

James shook his head, then looked at the blank screen of the television thoughtfully. "Sort of. Not really."

"I've got it," Logan exclaimed, pointing at James knowingly. "You're secretly a chick."

James let out a short laugh, shifting underneath Logan's legs. "Close enough."

Logan had to think about that one. "Come on, man, out with it."

"All right, I guess I have to tell you," James breathed tersely, glancing over at Logan as if looking for him to say 'oh no, it's okay, it's your secret, blah, blah,' but Logan did nothing of the sort. He was dying to know. James looked at the orange leather intently, taking his hand off Logan's knee and biting at his lip. "That whole thing about teaching you how to deal with chicks was a plot to, I don't know, kiss you or something."

The whole thing kind of stumbled out all in one tight breath. "There, I said it, whatever."

Logan sat there and looked at James' reddened face, because that was the craziest stupidest thing anyone had ever said to him (with the exception of Carlos' every word). "_You_ wanted to kiss _me_?"

James couldn't bring himself to look at his friend, choosing instead to bury his face in his hands and draw in a deep breath. This was awkward. Really fucking awkward.

"Yeah. You know. Like. Yeah, I guess," he said, figuring he should say _something_ but not really knowing what.

In all honestly, Logan didn't know what to say either. He took his legs back off James' lap, sitting on the edge of the couch and deciding what to tell the other. As far as he knew, he definitely wasn't gay or anything, though he hadn't really given it much thought.

"Umm, so, did you, like, want to?" Logan felt himself blushing, looking away towards the door in hopes that James wouldn't notice. That was a really fucking stupid thing to say.

James laughed nervously. "Do _you_?"

"I don't know," the black haired boy replied honestly, scratching at his thigh absently and looking everywhere in the apartment that wasn't James. Now was one of those times where Mrs. Knight needed to come in and offer them sandwiches, because, fuck, the heat would _not_ go down from Logan's face and he felt completely out of his comfort zone.

"Then let's just forget about this."

Logan's curiosity always managed to get the better of him, every time.

"Let's just…like, try?"

James stared at the carpet, chancing an occasional glance at Logan out of the corner of his eye. He mostly wanted to say no, because things could only get more and more uncomfortable from where they were. But the answer was yes, yes, yesyesyes, because it was _Logan_. Maybe a lot of people wouldn't agree with him, but he had developed this strange attraction to the other and was incorrigible.

"I. That's kind of. Fine. But just once," he decided, hesitating before adding a hurried "if you want to".

James finally turned towards him on the couch, bowing his head slightly and looking somewhere around Logan's stomach, anywhere but his face. The couch groaned as he moved to a cross-legged position, holding onto his ankles as he finally managed to look up at Logan.

Logan smiled anxiously, placing a hand on James' shoulder and leaning forward a little. The latter smoothed his hair down, moving towards Logan and bringing them closer, though neither wanted to be the first to close the distance between them.

James brought a hand up to the side of Logan's face, calculating every single fucking aspect of the scenario and deciding what to do. There had never been this much thought involved in him going to kiss anyone; there were never so many things to think about and worry about. _Come on, Logan_, he thought, feeling his palm start to sweat against the other's jawline.

Why did this have to be so fucking _difficult_?

Logan laughed, at what James couldn't know, using his other hand to tilt James' chin up and moving in so that their lips were just barely brushing together, feeling his heart beat rise erratically, pounding against his ribs and trying to get the hell out, feeling an unnecessary rush of nerves and adrenaline.

James composed himself as much as he could, pressing forward and jerking back just as soon. Logan's lips were _really soft_.

Logan drew his hands back, raising his eyebrows and scrubbing at the back of his hair.

"S-sorry," James stuttered out, having never been this nervous in his whole life. "I was, um, surprised, I-"

"Yeah," Logan sighed, his tone giving James a sinking dreading feeling. He was kind of hoping that he was going to get a second try, but that was kind of out of the picture by that point. Logan chewed on his lower lip, sneaking glances up at James' face every few seconds. He could still feel the faint remnants of pressure on his mouth, and he sort of wanted it back.

"J-James, can I- "

He gave up trying to articulate anything he was trying to say, lunging forward and planting his lips somewhere at the corner of James', staying there with his eyes closed for a long, painfully awkward moment before James turned his head to the side and let their mouths slip together. The smaller boy felt another sickening wave of nerves, hand slipping up to the back of James' neck in fear that he would pull away again. He didn't, kissing Logan in shaky but hungry motions and pretending like it didn't feel so damn _good_.

Logan drew back too soon, looking down with his lips parted and breathing in slow and hard. That _so_ did not just happen. He so did not just sort of somewhat almost make out with James.

"Well," Logan said, drawing in a deep breath and turning towards the television. "That was kind of awesome."

James nodded, lips pursed.

"Let's forget it ever happened."

James nodded again, standing up and brushing the imaginary dust from his pyjama pants before heading off to his bedroom. "On one condition," he called over his shoulder.

Logan's head snapped up at this. "James, I'm not going to f- what condition?"

He grinned sheepishly, surprised to be smiling when he was so fucking embarrassed. "You come to that one chick's party with me Saturday?"

Logan sighed, sinking back into the couch.


	4. 100 Game

100. Game

"Guys, we seriously can't be _this_ bored."

Carlos shrugged convulsively at the comment, leg bouncing up and down and up and down and up and down. He absolutely _needed_ to be up and doing something, but we were pretty much glued to the centre of the hardwood floor in fear of damaging anything. We were basically _immobilised_, there were so many damn things to break.

Our band was exceptionally good at breaking things, and everything in the mansion was exceptionally fragile and exceptionally expensive. Last time these facts had been disregarded and we ended up cowering in the face of a feral cat and a very hungry alligator, both courtesy of Carlos, and, as one might assume, that combination isn't good for a house full of breakable things and costly furniture.

Paying for that all took a shitload of working, and not one of us was ready for that again.

"Guys, seriously, we can be," Kendall replied dryly, looking warily at James' lucky comb as it made its way through his already perfectly styled hair.

Carlos took a deep breath. "We gotta do _something_," Carlos said desperately, "and if playing a game is something then playing a game is something. I honestly don't care if it's "I've never" or some shit, I need something to occupy myself before I go on an _awesome rampaging death path of destruction_."

Everyone shuddered slightly at the last phrase, because Carlos had described something that was all too familiar and not so enticing.

I remained silent, leaning back on my hands and waiting for someone to come up with a plan, because even if I _was_ the smart one I wasn't thinking up anything brilliant. I was kind of relying on Kendall to say something because, in comparison to James and Carlos, he was the reasonable one.

"Okay," James said, holding his hands out with his palms facing down and waiting until everyone was paying attention. "I have an idea."

"Don't say makeovers again," I interjected, sounding pained. He'd already built suspense and suggested that several times and I didn't want to hear it again.

"No. I think we should invite some girls over and play spin the bottle."

That sounded like more of a plan. Carlos nodded vigorously, practically drooling at the very mention of females. I was a little skeptical, just a little, looking over at Kendall as if for assurance, who looked mildly interested.

"Won't Gustavo, like, kill us?" he asked, clasping his hands together and looking at James and Carlos.

"Gustavo doesn't have to _know_. We'll just make sure they don't break anything and it'll be fine."

I hated to be the party pooper, but I hated more to risk anything that could potentially happen to the mansion. Because really, we were supposed to be responsible for keeping everything how it was and inviting people over was kind of not cool.

"I dunno, guys, I mean…last time and all…I really don't want anything to happen, you know?"

"Damn," Carlos said, snapping his fingers. "That was such a good idea too."

"We could still play," James suggested, looking around at all of us and making a face. "It's kinda gay, so if you guys have better ideas…?"

Carlos was quick to shake his head no, which was, you know, kind of worrying, and Kendall shrugged, looking down at the floorboards and waiting for my opinion. That was a really, really stupid idea, but Kendall _did_ have a bottle of soda, yes, that he had on a coaster, _his_ coaster, as not to ruin their producer's precious flooring. And we were really fucking bored.

"Whatever happened to just talking?" I asked, sitting back slightly and looking down.

"What happened is we spend every waking hour together and we've already talked about everything there is to talk about in the world," James explained a little obnoxiously.

"Egyptian beetles," I said instantly, before Carlos pointed out that no one in the band knew anything on the subject of North African insects.

"Let's play the damn game," Kendall sighed, finishing off his soda and leaning forward to place the bottle on its side in the middle of where we were sitting. Everyone reluctantly moved closer so we were in a haphazard circle around the empty soda, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the situation.

"Not it," James said loudly, me repeating the phrase immediately after, before Kendall caught on. Carlos looked up worriedly, realising what happened and cursing under his breath. He shot James the dirtiest look he could give anyone (which was pretty pathetic) and snatched the bottle from the centre of our circle, setting it back down and turning his wrist to start it spinning. Eyes widening, he clapped his hands over his face, the rest of us watching intently as it slowed to a stop, the opening facing a degree to the side of James.

Carlos uncovered his face slowly, looking fearfully out at the bottle and slapping a hand down on the floor in disbelief.

"This is rigged!" he yelled, glaring daggers at James, who was smirking and fixing his hair again.

"Don't worry," James sighed, sounding stuck-up as ever. "I don't want to kiss _you_ anyway."

"I bet you're just trying to kiss _Logan_," Kendall teased, me scoffing afterwards at the fact that _I_ had to be brought into all this. I rubbed at my temple, scratching a hand through my hair and watching the others painfully.

James turned to Kendall, giving him a dry look. "Duh. That's why we're all playing."

"I need new friends," I moaned, speaking only the truth. These guys were my best friends, but they were too much for me sometimes. Like, way too much. So much that I could only sit marvelling at the fact that I'd landed myself in a game of _spin the bottle_ with three idiots. Three _male_ idiots.

Carlos sighed, scooting closer to James and managing a nervous laugh before gesturing spastically and muttering something I couldn't hear to the other. James rolled his eyes, leaning in and touching his lips to the other's before jerking back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Gross, dude," he said, looking over at Kendall and I. Kendall made a buzzer noise.

"Wrong," he declared, giving James a meaningful look. "I guess we forgot to go over the rules. Each time you kiss someone it obviously has to be on the lips, which yeah, and it also has to be for more than five seconds.

"Five seconds?" Carlos asked disbelievingly, crossing his arms and shooting James a look. "Like one two three four five or like with Mississippi?"

"Mississippi," Kendall told him condescendingly. "They have to be _seconds_."

James took a deep breath, leaning down again to accommodate Carlos' shortness and kissing him awkwardly, keeping his mouth closed and making a face as Kendall counted five decently fair seconds. After the last 'Mississippi', Carlos pulled back, looking mildly disgusted.

I, on the other hand, was interested, noticing for the first time that I had very attractive friends. "I'll go next," I said in what I figured was a neutrally unexcited tone.

James jumped at the words, pointing at Carlos and exclaiming, "He's gay!"

Carlos glared at him for the umpteenth time, pressing a ten dollar bill into the taller boy's palm and drawing patterns on the floor with his finger.

"What the- you guys _bet_ on- what the fuck is this?" I stuttered indignantly, staring at the money in James' hand and giving Kendall a "are they not insane" look. "I mean- what? I was just being nice so _you guys_ didn't have to go! Assholes." I looked down at my legs, seething and ignoring the game.

"It _is_ your turn," Kendall reminded me carefully.

I reached forward, letting a long breath out and spinning the damning bottle a little violently. I watched it stop, having half a mind to take it and turn it to Kendall. Guess who it landed on first. Yeah. James. The _last_ person I wanted to/would be okay with being forced to kiss.

"You," I groaned, the word sort of coming out as a painful question.

"Me," James breathed, shooting me a blindingly white smile and making me want to rip off his testicles in one painful yank. I smiled faintly at the thought, Panzerschrecks and medieval gardening tools dancing around in my mind. James mistook my smile as toleration for him alive and not rotting in a hole, crawling forward and looking up at my glaring steaming face.

"C'mon," he said playfully, my hand twitching on the hardwood floor wanting to bitch slap the perfect teeth out of his mouth. I sighed, leaning down and pressing my mouth to his, Kendall's numbers and states deafeningly loud in my ears as my nerves caught every fucking movement his mouth made, breath hot on my tongue as I decided what to do. Kendall reached five and James closed his lips over mine, lingering there for entirely too long before he pulled away and slid back into his spot.

I sat there with my mouth hanging open idiotically, Carlos smirking at me and Kendall looking at James.

"Delicious," James commented, making me blush furiously and look down in an attempt to hide my flushed face. Carlos chuckled, informing James of how 'into it' I was and how he couldn't have bought a shopping cart with ten dollars anyway.

"Well," Carlos said, straightening out his t-shirt. "James already got two turns so Kendall should go."

Kendall grunted in a mix of recognition and disapproval, reaching for the bottle anyway and spinning it. He watched it with a grimace, a vague smile stretching across his face as it slowed near Carlos and stopped right on me. I stared into the opening of the bottle, which was threatening me like a fucking gun, thanking my lucky stars that I didn't have to kiss James again or, god forbid…Carlos.

Kendall turned to me, looking amazing at the moment. Maybe it was just in comparison to the other two. I felt my breath catch a little as he slid closer to me, snaking an arm around my waist and tugging me closer.

"I got Logan," he bragged to the others, threading his fingers into my hair and watching me expectantly as I looked up at him, managing a nervous smile. I decided to be the one to kiss _him_ this time, seeing the decision as a lose-lose situation because if I just sat there I'd be a pussy and if I was going around all jolly making out with dudes, well, you know.

I realised as soon as his lips were against mine that no one was counting, scaring myself with the fact that I didn't care. Vaguely aware of the fact that Kendall's hand was trailing down from my hair to my waist, I pressed forward, mind blank and controlled by hormones and instinct. But the main thing wasn't just the kissing, it was the _Kendall_. I found my eyes flitting open every couple seconds to make sure that it was really him and I wasn't just wanting it to be. There was something I had been missing, something about how firm and solid he was curled around me.

I took deep breaths through my nose, trying to calm down as his tongue made its tentative way into my mouth, Carlos' muffled laughter reminding me that my five seconds were up. Then again, the rule was _at least_ five seconds, so technically this was completely fine. Other than the fact that it wasn't, because, obviously, this was my dude best friend who I totally did _not_ want to fuck me into the floor right there and then.

Only when Kendall whined into my mouth did I pull back, feeling my face burning and my eyes unable to meet his. Carlos was laughing uncontrollably into his sweater sleeve, James into his knees, the bottle sitting innocuously enough in front of them. Kendall bit his lip, taking his hands back from my waist and folding them across his chest.

"Um, Kendall?" I asked timidly, the words sounding so loud and heavy that I wanted to cover my ears and squeeze my eyes shut and hide.

"Um, Logan," he responded, almost, _almost_ smiling. Smiling was not on my list of priorities and I greatly admired his ability to do so, because honestly? I was freaking the fuck out.

James raised his head, fighting back laughter as he looked over at Kendall and I, Kendall looking anticipating and a little seductive and me looking like I was about to explode in a fit of nerves and death.

"Please tell me this is the part where we all get to fuck Logan," James said hopefully, Carlos nodding and shrugging.

"Mine," Kendall snarled, pulling me up by the arm and dragging me off to Gustavo's bathroom, full of expensive ceramic things that would be broken better that Carlos could ever manage and shoved up my poor butt. I got my footing, stumbling around and trying to keep up with his pace, seeing as he still had me by the forearm.

He looked down at me, smiling mischievously. "I have a better game we can play."


	5. 8 Death

8. Death

Death honestly isn't that big a deal sometimes. All it is is blackness, blackness, and a lack of everything, and a vague feeling of being suspended. You don't know when your eyes are open or closed. You don't even know if you have eyes, or if you have a tangible body. Other times it's Hell, I guess for spending a good sixty percent of my time being fucked up the ass, where, you know, shit happens but at least it doesn't happen on Earth, in _real life_.

Death isn't a big deal if you come back to consciousness. My brain stops working and my heart stops beating and I get cold and stiff, but in a day I'm alive again. Not zombie alive either, not rotting and trying to feast on human brains. I'm exactly the same as I was before dying.

I could honestly care less if I'm roadkill. The fact that I don't fear death makes my life a hell of a lot more fun. I take more risks. Death wouldn't be a big deal if Kyle Broflovski wasn't always being such a freaking Jew and getting upset every time something happened to me. Whenever I got hit by a truck, or murdered by my kinky asshole boyfriend, or crushed under a falling object, I ended up under the watchful eye of Kyle, waking up to him looking on the verge of tears.

He knew I'd come back, everyone did. With utter nonchalance, my best friends watched as I was torn limb from limb, shrugged, and went back to their activities. Kyle rushed out in a haze to his dead companion. He was so _retarded_ sometimes. It was like falling asleep. No one freaks out when their friends fall asleep, so _why_ did he freak out when I died?

Why was I on Kyle's couch wrapped up in a blanket with a thawing ice pack on the side of my neck, drawing in a deep breath as a face surrounded by flaming red hair came into focus? A smile formed above me and I let my eyelids flutter shut, taking the ice pack from my neck and touching the numb area where it had been sitting.

"What happened?" I asked sleepily, if not just because I was curious. Kyle inhaled shakily, brushing my bangs out of my face and smiling down at me when I opened my eyes again.

"Craig suffocated you again," he informed me, looking slightly worried. I thought hard about what he said, starting to remember mentioned event, grinning at the memory and straining my faintly hurting throat.

"Awesome."

"Not really," Kyle huffed, running a slow hand through my hair over and over, which was actually kind of soothing. I watched him carefully, mind still trying to get at why he was so uptight about my dying. None of my friends gave a shit at all. Stan didn't care, Token didn't care even more, Bebe laughed, Cartman made fun of me, Craig actually was responsible for a good portion of deaths. My family got the snow shovel and moved me from the street to the lawn. Kyle took me in and worried about me.

"Kyle?" I asked quietly, figuring that if I didn't have an answer I might as well finally ask.

"Yeah, Ken?" He moved his hand down to my shoulder, massaging gently and smiling faintly.

"How come you care when I die?"

He bit his lip. I watched him.

"Because…I dunno," he sighed. "How am I supposed to know how many times you get to come back to life before you can't anymore? I mean, I don't really want to say this, but…I'd be surprised if you could do this forever."

I shifted on the couch, realising that he was kind of right. Maybe letting people kill me wasn't as good an idea as I previously thought. Maybe I did have an allowance, an allotment, and how could I know how many times resurrections (so to speak) I got? I made a mental note to ask Damien; he might know.

Kyle let out a long breath. "Is it so weird to say I care when my friends _die_?"

I chuckled, covering the hand on my shoulder with my own. "Death has such a bad reputation. That kind of is weird, because most people's friends don't, you know, come back from the dead."

"I still don't know, man." He looked kind of anxious still, teeth destroying his lower lip, hand fidgeting slightly underneath my palm. "I don't want to be laughing at you or leaving you stuck to somebody's windshield when you're dead for real, forever."

"I know, Kyle, I just want you to chill out sometimes."

He picked up the ice pack from the material of the sofa and pressed it back over my throat, ignoring what I said and paying attention to the giant fading bruise that was my neck. He scooted in so he was sitting all the way on the cushion, me stretched out next to him with my feet up on the arm of the couch.

"You want some soup, or ibuprofen or anything? Water?"

"I'm fine," I replied, sighing lightly and looking up at Kyle's unreadable face. "I'm always fine."

"I just love you, dude, we all do. It would suck major balls without you. You're like, my best friend. Even if the other guys are, I'm not comfortable with my best friend dying. Good enough?"

I felt a soft warmth flood me, my hand tightening over Kyle's as I relaxed into the couch cushions. That was making sense a little bit more, and honestly, I hadn't thought about it before, but I was ridiculously happy just knowing that _someone_ loved me. Maybe death wasn't scary, maybe I was okay with Kevin shovelling me onto my driveway and going inside to fix breakfast.

As long as someone was there to keep me company and ice my neck when I died, I could get through whatever. It sounds crazy, but to me? Life was crazy.

Death was nothing in comparison.


	6. 61 Heartfelt Apology

A/N: Sequelish thing to The Lake Monster, this takes place a good while further into their relationship. I apologise if the word pants appears completely out of context in this story.

61. Heartfelt Apology

Today was a day spent arguing with my mother the whole morning and working pointlessly for the whole afternoon. Gustavo strained our vocal cords mercilessly, making us hoarse and tired, but with the thought that at least we were getting close to perfecting the song. He then informed us that he was scrapping the song because he 'didn't like it anymore', calling us names and telling us to piss off. Naturally, I'm not coming home exactly overjoyed.

Having nothing better to do once through the door of Apartment 2J, I head off in the direction of Carlos' room, entering without bothering to knock and looking over at him. He sits slumped on his bed, looking kind of deflated and put off, playing with a string on his blanket but not doing much else besides. He glances up at me, sighing and laying on his side facing me.

"What's your beef?" I mumble at him, sitting on his bed and leaning back against the wall.

"Had a shit day," he replies none too cheerfully, hitting the back of his hand against the side of the bed absently and shifting slightly. I watch him tiredly, asking about his shit day and closing my eyes.

"I dunno, Bitters confiscated my slingshot forever this time, and took away my pool privileges for a whole week. And I tried to hang out with like, three different people but everyone had plans, and I burnt breakfast, and I don't know, it was shit. And Gustavo, of course."

I nod, feeling really fucking pissed, Carlos surprisingly not having the soothing effect on me he usually has.

"I'm gonna go watch TV, alright?" Carlos grumbles, standing up and heading to the door, leaning against the wall and pausing before he leaves. "You coming along?"

"Yeah," I mutter, pushing myself up off the bed and following his lead. I look over at him, exhausted and looking up dolefully, the wall supporting him with no help from the sliver of energy not already drained from him. And, of course, I'm struck with an idea, a really stupid idea but a way to get all my annoyance at the general public out.

I move from in front of the door to in front of Carlos, reaching both hands out to press his shoulders to the wall. He stares at me, looking unfazed, only a hint of mischief in his otherwise stony face. I'm almost afraid he's going to oppose before he kisses me harshly, grabbing at my hips and pulling my body into his. I draw in a sharp breath as my hipbone hits against his, a dull pain starting up in the area and only serving to satisfy me.

"Sorry," I say breathlessly, holding tightly onto his shoulders as he slides up slowly, gritting his teeth and pushing me back slightly so he can yank down my jeans. He licks his lips as I kick them off the rest of the way, running his hands down my chest and pinching at a nipple playfully on his way down.

"Fuck, Kendall," he murmurs, gritting his teeth as he reaches down to unbutton his own pants. Here's the point where I have half a mind to cover my eyes and run pantsless for the hills; it's been a while since I first discovered how _unique_ Carlos is and I'm still admittedly a little afraid of the _thing_.

He doesn't pay attention to the worry digging lines into my forehead, extracting his dick from his underwear and making me shudder at the surrealism of the whole affair. It, like, _never ends_.

"Um, we're switching?" he says, more coming out as a question than a command, me obediently moving to take his place against the wall as he stands in front of me, taking hold of my half-hard cock and slowly pumping it to full erectness. I groan slightly at the relief that's washing over me, pressing my mouth to Carlos' and biting down on his tongue as it makes its way over. He whines at the pressure; I increase it.

I feel Carlos' hands wandering down, underneath me, letting up on his tongue and sloppily drawing back, moving my leg up encouragingly and letting him lift me up. I bite my lip and he moves forward as much as he could, sandwiching me between him and the wall and nosing at my chin as I wrap my legs around his waist.

He finally looks up at me, half worried and half pent up and raring to go, searching my face for something before digging his hands under my thighs and holding me there against the wall. I tighten my legs around him, staring down interestedly as he guides his dick into me.

I hold my breath as he starts moving, not gradually like he usually does; without lube, or preparation, or anything, which may not seem like a big deal, but with Carlos, it is. It's an _enormous_ deal. I'm actually pretty proud of myself for not, you know, screaming or crying or a combination of the two, instead just kind of shutting down and watching. The fact of something so painful and raw is actually relieving.

I feel my previous pissed off countenance starting to evaporate every time the wall shudders with the force of Carlos slamming into me, taking a deep breath in and starting to relax in the midst of a numb, _good_ feeling creeping into my stomach. Carlos has his eyes closed, gripping at my thighs as he starts slowing down just a little bit, prolonging each forward motion that goes _way_ too deep.

"A-ah," he splutters, bucking up fast into me and making me gasp. I rested my head against the wall, starting to push myself down onto his cock in time with his thrusts. I'm surprised at myself for being so calm, not even feeling the usual single minded want to come, just content with the forceful kind of intimacy of the whole thing.

Carlos starts to lose it just as I'm starting to _think_ about the end of it all, eyes fluttering open to watch me for a second before he comes hard, filling me up and taking a second to breathe in before getting a firmer hold on me and continuing with almost more gusto than before, hipbone still knocking into mine hard.

"Jesus Christ," I breathe out, wrapped up in the feel of his hardening dick hitting against that _spot_ again and again and again. I take a hand back from his shoulder, pressing it against my forehead before moving it down to jack off slowly. Carlos moves forward to kiss me openly, my fingers tightening instinctively around my erection with the warmth of precum dripping down to my thumb.

I feel my breath starting to stutter in my chest, running my unoccupied hand through my hair and gripping at the strands painfully. I move my hips down needily, Carlos meeting me with an especially rough thrust that's enough to send me over the edge. I jerk away from his mouth, body shaking, all functions and senses and throat closing up as I rock against his dick buried somewhere deep inside me, watching numbly as my hand works over my cock, milking myself dry.

Slowly, gradually, I start to come down from the ecstasy of my release, realising the error of what I just did as I unhook my legs from Carlos' waist, footing unsteady as I try to stand, palms against the wall.

"You okay?" Carlos asks, and it seems like he too is starting to think about how we both got a tad bit carried away: rough, random sex is not good with him. It may seem like a good idea at the time, but it most certainly isn't one later when I'm trying to, like, _walk_.

I rub at my hip absently, the skin starting to turn from pink to purple and start its cycle through blue and brown and yellow. "Yeah, I'm good," I tell him, which I am, it's just the question of later that's seeming painful. I pick up my pants from the floor, unimpressed at the prospect of putting them on and doing anything. Falling asleep on Carlos' bed or even on the floor right under me is the only thing sounding good to me at the moment.

I grimace, pulling my jeans on gingerly and feeling sticky and gross inside them. However, my mom and little sister are in the living room; it's bad enough to be screwing Carlos while they're home, and it's certainly not like I can just go waltzing through the house with no pants on to get to the shower. If I have enough energy to take a shower.

"Thanks, man," Carlos says exhaustedly as I limp out of the room, feeling strangely open and walking like I've still got something up my ass. I pass through the living room area to get to the bathroom, hoping mom and Katie won't notice me. Like _that_ ever happens.

My mom gets up immediately, rushing over to me and being her typical self, which is great when I've got a hockey injury or something, _not_ when I just got fucked into the wall by my extremely well-endowed friend. She looks worriedly from the grimace on my face to my pathetic walking, putting a caring hand on my shoulder.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" she asks, starting to go into my-kid-is-hurt-mom-mode.

This is so uncool. "I- nothing, mom, I fell, my leg's just a little sore."

"Did you pull anything? Are you sure you're okay? You look like you're in a lot of pain- I'll go get the ice pack."

I brush my hair out of my eyes, looking at her steadily and pretending like I'm not so fucked up and sweaty right now, crossing my arms over the cum that somehow managed to end up smeared over part of my t-shirt.

"I don't need an ice pack, ma, I'm seriously okay. I think I just need to sleep on it, in the morning it should be feeling better. I mean, I just fell, that's all."

"If you're sure," she replies, and at least she knows when I can handle things on my own. I'm pretty good about knowing when I need help, and she's aware of that. Katie smirks faintly at me, not as ignorant about my relationships as a twelve year old kid should be, and my mother returns to the couch, hesitating before turning from me to Iron Chef and leaving me to hobble over to the bathroom.

I flick on the light and close my eyes for a moment, locking the door and leaning against the counter. My entire lower half feels like a throbbing mass of pudding; I sigh and look over at the shower tiredly. Hot water sounds kind of sickening at the moment, seeing as it's always ninety degrees in LA. And I'm too worn out.

I find it in myself to step forward, leaning over and turning the cold water on. The shower sputters before the water starts coming forth steadily, and I sigh, stepping in and sitting down just as soon under the water. It rains down, icy, on my head, the tile of the shower already starting to be too hard and painful. I tug the curtain closed and lay on my side, the cold water coming down numb and refreshing against my sore everything.

I wake up cooled off and feeling better, mostly (completely) due to the fact that I slept well. Seriously, like, twelve hours straight of sleeping like a damn rock really refreshes a guy sometimes. I ignore the gnawing creeping sensation in my stomach, peeling the covers off and sliding out of bed.

I regret that immediately.

My legs buckled under me instantly, hands shooting out instinctively to grab at my bed and stop me from falling. I close my eyes, breathing out slowly and kneeling carefully with my chin resting on my mattress. Every one of my joints feels like it's been coated with glue; every one of my muscles is trying to breathe but wheezing and aching instead; every inch of my skin feels like a black and blue mess of broken blood vessels.

Take two, Kendall walking. _I am so not about to puke everywhere,_ I tell myself, pushing myself up and supporting myself on the bed until I felt like I was ready to stand up on my own. I gain stability, yet still ready to collapse at any given moment, taking cautious steps to the door.

There, I pause to look down the hall in both directions and check for my mom, making sure the coast is clear before managing to make it to the bathroom. It's dark but I limp in nonetheless, closing the door and turning on the light.

Technically, I'm pretty lucky to be feeling like _this_, compared to last night. Yes, now I feel like utter shit, but at least it was aching pain instead of stabbing pain, and at least I was clean and awake. At least I'm not pissed at my crappy day, either. Things had gone from fucked to highly unpleasant. I can't complain.

Someone knocks at the door and I take no notice, leaning against the sink and letting it hold up my weight. Carlos' voice (of course) comes from outside the bathroom.

"Dude, Logan, you in there?"

I sigh, pushing off the bathroom sink and moving over so I could unlock the door. "It's not Logan, it's me."

He comes in, looking hesitant, and pushes himself up easily onto the sink, sitting there with his ankles crossed and staring me down in this unreadable way he has. He's not the easiest to figure out: if his expression isn't ponies and unicorns and helmets or 'oh _shit_ my own maniacal contraption is about to bash my brains in' or a mix of both, a lot of people don't know what to think.

I guess, though, I'd call it something like regret, or pity, or…well, something that's not characteristically Carlos.

He takes a deep breath like he's about to start talking but then just sighs, looking up and trying to articulate what he's trying to get across to me. It's silent except for the hum of the fan and the faint noises from outside the bathroom door, and Carlos is just giving me that look. I stand by the door and wait for him to speak; I have nothing to say.

"Kendall, babe," he finally starts, clasping his hands and then taking them apart to set them on his knees. I close my eyes and lean against the locked door, hoping to god this won't be the start of a typical maudlin Jo-esque speech that's more cheese than caring. I honestly don't care that much and don't want him to exhaust himself apologising.

"I feel really shitty for yesterday," he breathes, looking down at the rug on the tiled floor.

"Dude, it's fine." I open my eyes to look at him tiredly, tapping my fingers against the wall next to me. "Like, honestly, I'm alright."

He sighs again. "I _know_ you're not alright, Kendall. I very obviously hurt you, and you're my best friend, like, ever, and I'm not cool with that, like, at all. So I'm going to sit here and offer a heartfelt apology to you because I don't know my own strength and I pretty much fucked up and I just want to say I'm super sorry. So. Take it or leave it, I guess, I'm just saying."

"Funny thing about the body, Carlos, it repairs itself. I've been worse off, man."

He bites his lip anxiously, and I kind of understand what's bothering him. If it was my fault that he was buttfucked into utter crippledom, then I'd probably feel pretty bad.

"I'm still sorry," he says quickly, looking next to him into the sink.

I abandon my place near the door and come up to him, stepping up between his legs and sliding my hands over his. "Hey, what I'm trying to say is that it only hurts physically, yeah? I can live with a little pain for a week or two. If I was gonna get all mad and shit then I wouldn't be fucking you. 'Sides, it's not your fault about, well, _that_." I gesture to the front of his pants, bringing myself to smile up at him.

"God, I really love you sometimes," he mutters, leaning down to kiss me gently before sliding down off the counter and running a hand through his hair.

I watch him apprehensively, almost expectantly, him looking up at me with raised eyebrows.

"Glad that's over," he says, relieved. "Let's go do something."

I grin, sliding my arms around his waist and pulling him closer, watching him roll his eyes. "I'd think you would have learned by now," he comments dryly, letting me have my way nonetheless.


	7. 26 Light

26. Light

It started with a dream. It followed with a daydream, a conscious daydream. Then came the strange thoughts and the questions and the answers. And then the torrents of feeling, of want. Now I'm incorrigible, practically unstoppable.

If it weren't for me being so shy and awkward, maybe I'd come out of the hole I'd dug myself down into and stop biting at my lip and clawing at my knees. Just maybe. In the time being, I'd wait for clueless Kendall to pick up on something subtle as subtle ever was, and ponder how many zeroes came after the decimal point in the chance that anything would be started, exposed. It was, honestly (and I realised this) ridiculous. In a perfect world- well, in a world where I did what I should have without overthinking the situation and dooming myself to a tentative half-state of action, I would man it up and go for it, no hesitating.

Though there was one crucial factor that prevented this all from happening: I was scared. Yes, fucking _scared_.

Maybe I wasn't the most courageous guy to walk this planet, but this was ridiculous. I should not have been so scared of my best friend. Well, not that it was just him. It was a combination of many things- abandonment; rejection; not knowing what to do; commitment, even; stress; awkwardness- tons of likely problems berating my brain and piling up like dozens of streams flowing into one rushing, frothing river of worry and doubt. It was completely rational to be a little disinclined to admit to possibly my most prominent best friend and role model something that could make your relationship take an uncomfortable turn.

What overrode any of that, though, was the worst fear of them all. The fear of looking back and saying 'if only'. I knew Kendall would accept me no matter what. I knew there was a chance of something brilliant and beautiful that could unfold from me at last getting over myself and taking the initiative. What puts the whole thing in more eloquent terms was a quote I'd heard in some class, from whom I can't remember- something like regret for all the things we did can be tempered by time; it is the regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.

So why was I faltering and tripping over my own shoes?

I suppose it was human nature and I didn't have to drain myself mulling over it. I did anyway, though. _Especially_ once we had decided that since James and Carlos had gone out super-partying and we didn't want to sit around being lazy at the apartment, it was a good idea to go out and say we did something for once.

Despite the setting sun, Kendall's idea was to go to the beach, seeing as, firstly, it was moderately close, and, secondly, the rest of the band plain liked the idea of me driving them around. Some of the time it's nice to be able to be the only one driving, but mostly it involves me being the chauffeur, dragged out at ungodly hours to meet the needs (well, wants) of the others. So, as it happens, after paying some annoying park ranger fuck because apparently it was a national park, I pulled into a parking space, me still a mess of nerves from the stress of driving and Kendall pulling out of his relaxed passenger state.

He got out of the car, stretching before moving around to my side; the side closest to the beach. I followed suit, walking beside him as we made our way down to the sand, through a planter and across a grassy picnic area that doubled as a mass hobo dwelling without speaking. My heart was starting to sink just a tiny bit because I was really looking forward to spending time with him and, you know, talking. Bonding and all that bullshit. It's not like it was awkward, it was just….disappointing, I don't know. I suppose I had to give it time.

We stopped before the concrete path we had to cross to get over to the sandy part of the beach, Kendall turning to me.

"What do we wanna do? Walk? Swim? Bodysurf? Any suggestions?"

I shrugged. "It's getting kind of dark to go out in the water….we might as well just walk a little? I don't know."

"Sounds good," he agreed, starting over to the volleyball courts so we could cross them and get closer to the water. I followed on one foot, the other knee bent with my efforts to get my shoes off.

We reached the shore, a last sliver of sun making the world look metallic and purple-pink. I know a lot of people probably wouldn't be as- well, retarded as I, but I couldn't help but wonder at all the colours, the ocean and Kendall's hair all sorts of orange and pink and green. I kind of gravitated towards the water, cold and frothy when it reached out towards my feet. With every step I was almost ankle-deep in sand that was soft and rough at the same time, and it was all, to say the very least, refreshing.

Kendall looked over at me through his bangs, a gentle smile stretching his lips before he broke the comfortable silence between us. "So what's going on with you?" he asked cryptically, tone obviously betraying some inner intention.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I watched my toes worm themselves into the cool sand, white edges of the water smoothing over the sand and erasing the tiny piles I'd created. I bent down to roll up my jeans and Kendall waited, still not saying anything as the tide got higher.

"Oh, yeah right," he chided, stepping closer as I started us walking again.

I felt myself laughing a little, helplessly even though nothing was really that funny. I knew my heart would start to sink into my stomach any moment with the coming realisation that the whole scene wasn't as perfect as it seemed. Happy or not, my fingers were still itching to just touch Kendall. Anywhere, everywhere.

"This is cool, getting out of the house and stuff. We don't really get to do stuff like this without Gustavo being a total Nazi about everything."

Kendall played with a strand of hair, grinning and nodding. "We need to go to the beach way more. We've only been like five times since we've been here, which is five times forever cause there's really no beach in Minnesota."

"Dude, yeah. We should, like, plan a weekly trip that'll never happen because we're always busy."

Why did he keep _smiling_? I mean, yeah, the utter fag part of my brain knew it was totally beautiful and when Kendall smiled rainbows and unicorns started falling out of my eyes, especially in the fading red right now that was just so fucking amazing. I didn't smile _that_ much, but not because I'm not happy and not that there's anything wrong with it.

I felt an arm slipping around my waist, my brain pretty much shutting down as I looked incredulously up at Kendall. He shrugged, looking down at the wet sand, and I pretended to fix my sleeve so I could pinch myself discreetly. This _was_ a dream, obviously, because, like, no.

He finally looked down at me, realising the fact that I was still gaping at him like he had three heads.

"What?"

I touched at the hand attached to the _arm around me_, still giving him the most retarded stunned look.

"Hey, you're my friend, dude, what's wrong with this?" He moved his fingers slightly so clarify the 'this', going on to prove his point. "Spreading the peace, you know? A little man-love is good for us all, and besides, this whole sunset thing is pretty bromantic if you ask me."

That made sense to me, even if he sounded like me with Hollywood fever. That was good. It wasn't like I was expecting him to declare his undying secret love for me or anything. Hoping, maybe, but that's ridiculous.

"Besides, you're kinda little and short and cute."

"Hey!" I shook him off, indignant. "I am _not_ little! Carlos is littler than I am!"

"Aww, is little Logie getting _defensive_? I'm sorry, I should have said 'vertically challenged.'"

"Bastard," I laughed, ducking when he went to pinch my cheek. "You're not doing a very good job of expressing your man-love for me."

"Oh, you _want_ my man-love," he teased, stopping in a ridiculous pose and flipping his hair. I stopped too; after all, we were almost at the wall that separated the shore from the road leading one way to the parking lot and the other way onto a sort of industrial looking pier thing.

"So what if I do?" I asked him, not about to deny anything.

"Oh yeah?" He raised an eyebrow, a magnificently skilled and dark and thick and not matching his hair eyebrow, resting his hands on his hips.

"Yeah," I replied, stepping forward and flooding with warmth and anxiety, shaking with fear of going brazenly and presumptuously ahead and _facing_ my fear, all my fears. My heart was about to burst out of my chest and create some bloody mess in the pink and blue sand. I looked up at Kendall, who was annoyingly perfect with his hair wind blown and his eyes dancing.

I swallowed the knowledge that I was potentially changing a whole fucking lot, watching Kendall's face, almost, _almost_ stopping me in my tracks before I reached up on the tips of my toes, my hand feeling solid on Kendall's shoulder, and kissed him smack on the lips.


End file.
